


Thankfully Not You

by Wind_Ryder



Series: Tumblr Fics [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Funeral, Guilt, M/M, death of a minor character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 13:26:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1606760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/pseuds/Wind_Ryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on a date with Sherlock, Victor receives a call informing him that an ex-lover has died. He doesn't tell Sherlock about it, but Sherlock goes to the funeral with him anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thankfully Not You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ImpishTubist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpishTubist/gifts).



> ImpishTubist: Victor attending the funeral of a fallen fellow agent and not expecting Sherlock to come with - didn’t even ask, because he was certain Sherlock would refuse - but then Sherlock appears out of nowhere at his side, and he slides their hands together as the service begins. And I just had an even better idea: It’s the funeral of an agent whose death Victor feels responsible for, and he’s been wracked with terrible guilt that Sherlock doesn’t quite understand but he’s trying to be supportive in his own way.
> 
> bonus points if it’s also someone Victor was involved with during the years after his initial breakup with Sherlock and though it wasn’t the same as what he now has with Sherlock, Victor still looks upon the relationship fondly and he misses the agent terribly
> 
>  
> 
> ___________________________________________
> 
> This series contains a stand alone stories that were prompted or otherwise posted on my tumblr page. They have not been beta'd and are just flights of fancy.
> 
> Feel free to let me know if you see any mistakes.

The agent had been one of the better ones. One of the ones who helped rookies out when they were just starting to get their feet wet, and didn’t actually allow them to fall flat on their face in the process. One of the ones who felt better by helping his fellow spooks whenever they were in need of assistance. One of the ones that was actually a good person, a good partner, and even a good friend.

 

Victor heard about his death the night before the funeral. It was a surprising turnaround. Usually that kind of chatter came in after all the arrangements were said and done. He’d taken the call while out to dinner with Sherlock. They’d always had that kind of understanding, and if a call came in- Sherlock never interrupted.

 

He checked the number, recognized it as a UK contact, and so answered in English. “Yes?”

 

“Scott Hamilton is dead.” The voice on the other line said. It was coldly delivered, but so was the nature of their business.

 

“How?” He asked, looking away from Sherlock and out towards the busy street beyond the restaurant window.

 

“He was shot by a Marcus Grieves. The situation has been dealt with. Grieves is dead.” Nothing Victor could do then.

 

“I see.” The voice on the other end informed him promptly of the funeral arrangements and then rang off. Victor tucked his phone back in his pocket and returned to his meal.

 

It wasn’t until his fourth glass of wine did he realize that he hadn’t said a word to Sherlock since the call took place. He hadn’t even looked up at his partner. When he finally did, he was only slightly surprised to find that Sherlock was holding the wine bottle in his hand. He’d been refilling it steadily every time it had emptied. The bottle was almost empty now.

 

“Should I get another?”

 

“Yeah.” Victor agreed quietly. “Why don’t you?” Sherlock nodded and summoned the waiter.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Victor fell asleep almost the moment his head hit the pillow, and in the morning he woke up and pulled on a suit. Sherlock was still sleeping, curled around his pillow like the clingy monkey he really was. It was nice to wake up and see him there, but Victor couldn’t bring himself to think about it more than that. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s temple, and then quickly slipped out the door.

 

He made it to the funeral early, and he watched as agents (former and current) came out of the woodworks to honor Hamilton. No one spoke. It was a code at these types of occasions. Only ghosts came here. If you spoke, you spoke in riddles and lies. No one knew the same man, only facets of one.

 

Victor held the prayer card that had been by a box at the door lightly in his hands. It was the serenity prayer. _Lord, give me the courage…_ He took a deep breath and moved to lean against a wall. A light pressure against his arm made him look up. Sherlock. His lover was dressed in a dark colored suit. His freshly showered hair was still slightly damp, curls tempered and pretending to stay in place until the rain picked up again. He was holding a prayer card, reading it intently for several moments before slipping it into his suit pocket.

 

He didn’t say anything, and Victor squeezed his eyes shut for one moment just to send up a prayer of his own. _Thank you_. He opened his eyes and he looked towards a photograph of Hamilton. _Be at peace Scott_.

 

The service commenced, and Sherlock stayed quite the whole while. He offered polite smiles when he met someone’s eye, but otherwise he was unobtrusive and unnoticed. When the service ended, Victor knelt by Hamilton’s casket to give one final prayer, and then he rose.

 

“Did you love him?” Sherlock asked him as they walked back to the flat together.

 

“Yes.” Victor replied, voice straining slightly. “He was killed by a man I was meant to neutralize. I failed.”

 

“You don’t do that often.”

 

“No.” Grieves had known about Victor’s relations with Hamilton. He’d seen them together before. He’d also known about Sherlock too. The man had turned traitor and run away like a coward, and when he realized Victor had been the one sent to take him in- he’d just barely managed to escape. He made a choice. He’d made one single choice that would have changed everything for Victor.

 

He’d chosen to kill Scott Hamilton, and not Sherlock Holmes.

 

Victor looked up at his partner’s face. He hated that he felt grateful that a man he loved was dead, but the alternative would have been worse. He could live with this.

 

He reached out and took Sherlock’s hand in his own, and they walked back home in the rain. They never mentioned the funeral again.

**Author's Note:**

> Got a prompt you want filled? Want to just say hi? Let me know!
> 
> falcon-fox-and-coyote.tumblr.com


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